Free Gateway (The Gateway Trilogy, Book 1) by Christina Garner

my tattoo?”
    “Because you are in serious danger.” His tone was hushed but urgent. “I'm trying to protect you. Not from Kat, but from things you don't understand and are worse than you can imagine. Please, just trust me for a little while longer. When Callie wakes up I'm taking you both to the Institute and then I promise you will get the answers you need.”
    We had a brief standoff before I nodded in acquiescence. 
    “Thanks, I owe you,” he said. “And while I'm racking up debts, I have another request. Callie's state of mind is still very fragile, and she doesn't remember much of last night. She's younger and not as strong as you. It's important we don't talk about any of this in front of her.”
    I agreed, pleased with the knowledge he found me strong. Then Kat entered the room and instantly I felt invisible again.
    “Look who was up,” Kat said, smiling.
    Callie yawned. “You woke—“
    “Well, the important thing is that you're awake,” Kat said quickly, “which means we can leave sooner than we expected and don't have to eat here.”
    Kat turned a dubious eye to the meal Taren was putting together for us. He’d placed a box of dried cereal and a tin of sugar cookies next to a half eaten jar of applesauce.
    “Not much for cooking?” I asked, the corners of my mouth twitching into a smirk.
    “It's not like I've been home in the past few weeks,” he said defensively. “And my folks… travel.”
    I wondered whether Taren's parents knew he was some sort of demon fighter, or if they really thought he was a pyro. I added it to my growing list of questions.
    He surveyed the spread and sighed. “Alright, let's go.”
    Kat brightened. “Great! Come on girls, I'll loan you some clothes.”
    She grabbed both Callie and me by the hand and led us down a short flight of stairs. The lower level couldn't have contrasted more with the upper. Where upstairs was sleek, with clean lines and a place for everything, the downstairs bedroom was chaotic and painted in bright colors. The walls were covered in pop art, the shelves adorned with kitsch. Kat went to a large closet and flung open the door to reveal rows and rows of stylish clothes.  
    So she lived here. It was a mark in the “they're dating” column. But they didn't share a room, which was a mark in the “what the hell is up with them?” column.
    She reached all the way into the back and pulled out a bag, tossing it to Callie.
    “Here, take what you like. All that stuff is from when I was your age—I could barely squeeze a toe in it now. Lucky for you, I'm terrible at throwing things away.”
    She looked me up and down. “So, I'm guessing you've got an alternative vibe going, right? Nothing too girly, nothing to make you fit in except with all the other people who don't want to fit in?”
    I was flustered by the accuracy of her assessment, especially given I was wearing a bathrobe. “Um, yeah.”
    She pulled a T-shirt from its hanger. “Here, my older cousin gave this to me as some kind of joke. You probably know who it is.”
    She tossed me the shirt. It bore the logo of an indie trip-hop band I'd seen more than once. A camisole flew my way and I snagged it, grateful. I didn't want to wear the bra I'd discarded last night; it was filthy and reeked of perspiration. Not that I was pleased my breasts could be kept under control by such a thin sheath of fabric, but it did have its advantages.   A pair of jeans sailed my way. I was surprised that they fit even reasonably well, though they were tight in the waist and loose in the hips, reflecting how much more of an hourglass her figure was. I rolled up the bottom a good three inches to make up for our difference in height.
    “Not bad,” Kat said, appraising Callie and me. She eyed my rolled up hem and shook her head. “Except for that.”
    She reached into a drawer and pulled out a pair of scissors, cutting off the excess fabric and fraying the ends. I protested—didn't we have more important